


Thine Is The Kingdom

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Alternate Universe, Character Study, Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-07-10
Updated: 2005-07-10
Packaged: 2019-05-15 15:19:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14792976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: All these years and Leo still doesn't trouble to conceal a smirk every time the Cardinal dons those ludicrously ostentatious robes and, worse, the scarlet hat that signifies blood and reminds him the kind of thing Mallory used to wear to go trick or treating.





	Thine Is The Kingdom

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

**Thine is the Kingdom**

**by: Delightfully Eccentric**

**Character(s):** Jed, Leo  
**Category(s):** AU  
**Rating:** YTEEN  
**Disclaimer:** The West Wing characters and histories aren't mine, and are used here for love, not money.  
**Summary:** All these years and Leo still doesn't trouble to conceal a smirk every time the Cardinal dons those ludicrously ostentatious robes and, worse, the scarlet hat that signifies blood and reminds him the kind of thing Mallory used to wear to go trick or treating.  
**Author's Note:** Part of the '5 Things That Never Happened to Jed Bartlet' Series 

All these years and Leo still doesn't trouble to conceal a smirk every time the Cardinal dons those ludicrously ostentatious robes and, worse, the scarlet hat that signifies blood and reminds him the kind of thing Mallory used to wear to go trick or treating. 

"Shut up," and hearing that from under the robes makes Leo smirk more. 

"Don't sweat it," he says. "Loosening the dress code can be the subject of your first proclamation, or decree, or whatever the hell it is you guys-" 

"Hell doesn't enter into it." 

"Well, that's not what I remember from catechism, but I'll give you the benefit of the doubt." 

"And it's not 'we guys', there's one guy and he doesn't like to share." 

"I told you you're perfect for the job." 

"Leo. This isn't running for Congress." 

"He can't last forever." 

"Leo." 

The swishing of Jed's robes is audible as they walk. Leo's suit is stiff and silent and Jed considers offering to lead mass in denims if Leo will wear them to the office. 

Leo keeps a good three feet between them – not out of respect, but to avoid stepping on the robes. It isn't the first time Jed's job has distanced them. 

"I'm saying, heed a little good advice. That's it." 

It's hard for Leo to look earnest when looking into a face framed with that headgear but he pulls it off. 

"He's on the way out, Jed. The guy has to be leaning on Faust to have stayed on this earthly plane this long." 

"Okay, you're going to be on the way out of my presence if this doesn't stop right here-" 

"Oh, see there, that was a great commanding tone, you really have that down." 

"Enough." 

Jed's heels scrape on the gravel as he wheels around, robes following behind in a dramatic billow. He sounds more like a schoolteacher than an international theological leader, but he's hitting the right note and it can work. It can work, Leo thinks, and he is wishing for a photographer and hearing the cadence of a public address: "Enough of raising our children in spiritual poverty; enough of the morally bankrupt examples we present; enough of those of us who have enough neglecting our duty to those who are less fortunate..." 

And so it could continue – and the language would need polishing, but he knows people who could do that – and underneath the frustration in his old friend's eye, there's a floating fear that convinces him that Jed does, really, have an idea of the good he could do. 

"I am not going to walk through a house of God planning how I'm going to benefit from a man's death. Least of all- He's supposed to be chosen by the Father, Leo – and the next guy... It's supposed to be God showing the way. It's not supposed to be us." 

Leo ignores the voices from above – there are things Jed can take care of for himself – and stands with a neutral expression on his face and a searchlight in his eyes. Allow Jed to believe he might be repentant but don't forget to twist the hook. 

Quietly enough that Jed will have to think about it to make it out: "It's not about our benefit." 

He watches Jed scrabble for pockets to grind his fists in and smiles at the image of a good man marching around the Vatican City, forever in blue jeans. 

* 

They have the conversation again, and again, and another time. 

Leo calls, and emails, and frequently either flies from wherever he is to wherever Jed is, or uses the kind of emotional blackmail no one else would know how to persuade Jed to do vice versa. 

Leo has a way of talking, a way so smooth with indulgence and danger that it's hard to believe he hasn't had a drink and isn't the devil, but not as hard as it is to disbelieve anything he chooses. 

It's never been in doubt that he can think for himself when called upon, but the robes don't render him invulnerable to seduction. 

It can be more comfortable to allow himself to see Leo's thoughts (or the thoughts Leo wants him to see), more flattering, certainly. 

He stretches in his armchair, a hotchpotch of shades where the leather's worn to differing degrees, glass tumbler hanging from his hand more to locate his inner Leo than for the quiet buzz he never gets from communion wine. 

Outer Leo is in the chair right beside, both in a better state of repair. Outer Leo never stops working, or touting for work, or trying to help, or whatever this is. Jed has his theories about what this is, but Leo's making sure it's all Jed's story. 

A nightcap has worn into the witching hour and beyond. His defences are threadbare as the chair and there are sick children to bless in the morning. 

Leo's still pin-sharp as his dress sense. His sinking deeper into the cushions as the hours turn only in the interests of creating an illusion. 

Jed knows. He's perfectly aware of every way in which Leo gets to him and that's what brings them in the vicinity of being evenly matched. 

"It's between you and Ancona, you know that, don't you?" 

Jed drags the glass under his nose. The smell kicks. He dips his tongue in. 

Leo took the bottle from the sideboard. Leo poured. Leo pushed the tumbler towards him. 

Jed's broody about letting him and doesn't answer. He swirls his finger in the drink and licks it clean. 

"Yeah, you know it. And you know he's a fascist too." 

"He's conservative." 

Leo shakes his head, it looks violent. "No. No. Conservative is... conservative is not wanting the government to interfere with your life and harping on about personal responsibility and, I don't know, wearing tweed. Ancona is a fascist." 

"I'm not saying I agree with him." 

"This isn't you, the reformer, versus him, slightly more traditional. He's like... He's a fundamentalist, and everybody loves those!" 

Jed's mouth sinks to the glass. Liquor looks better at night, refracting patches of light all the more startling in the dim. Candlelight swaying lazily on the window sill hits the face of his watch and bounces off it to seek out amber. 

Leo, relentless: "It'd be a return to the dark ages. You think the Church can be stupid now? Wait until-" 

"You think the Church can be stupid now." Obstinate. Lying. 

Undeterred: "Wait until he's banning sex outside ovulation and sending people to hell because they said 'hell' and-" 

"Leo," he draws the name out, "You're demonstrating an appalling grasp of the issues at stake. And of the nature of the position." 

"Yeah?" 

Leo nudges him with his foot, making sure he's paying attention. 

"Yeah." 

Leo leans in, disconcerting. 

"Educate me." 

This is Mrs. Landingham, this is 'give me numbers'. 

Jed sighs, the wrinkles on his forehead creak. He saw this coming, as inevitable as the sunrise soon to be knocking at the window. He can predict nine of ten of Leo's moves but if Leo didn't make them, he'd have been standing still for years. 

"Well, you haven't gone beyond the obvious, and even that isn't what you think, by the way. You made it silly. It isn't. It used to be pregnant teenagers. Now it's that, and dead teenagers. And dead people in every age range, and grotesquely sick people lingering for months and years, torturing themselves and their loved ones and-" 

"So get your ass in the Vatican and starting throwing condoms out the window." 

Leo makes sense even when he doesn't. 

One half of his mouth turns up at the corner. There's no energy in the other. 

"Maybe later." 

He adds, "It isn't just contraception. It's education too. We need to understand that ignorance doesn't equal abstinence." 

When he doesn't gather his thoughts quickly enough, Leo prompts, "What else?" 

"Gay rights. Not, hey, let's share out the choirboys. But it's unacceptable that the Church is coming to symbolise intolerance. It's just not okay. That's the last thing in the world our religion is about." 

Leo glows before the candle. 

"Women priests, eventually. And we're going to need them because if we don't deal with the whole celibacy thing, we're going to run out of men willing to take on the cloth." 

Leo arches an eyebrow. It begs to hear more. 

"Doing something about the nuns. These women are tired of having no status within the Church. I'm serious, Ancona's going to have a riot on his hands within a couple of years if he doesn't- I mean, they're not as docile as they look." 

Leo, nodding. "Sure. Except it's going to be you and you're going to strengthen the nuns' position in a couple of radical steps that are going to make Ancona choke up a lung and that nobody with a brain in the world is going to have a problem with." 

"Ancona has a brain." 

"Yeah, but there's something wrong with it." 

A prickle of excitement that has been teasing the base of his spine all night is threatening to manifest itself. It's illicit. 

Oh, Leo knows the buttons to push, and firmly enough to dislodge the rust. 

He keeps pushing. "And? And what else?" 

"South America. Drug barons. We need to quit telling them they're going to heaven because they gave us the money for a new stained glass window. We need to get behind the local clergy who risk life and limb to stand out against them. The Vatican might look at joining the U.N. too." 

"Yes. Yes." 

This is Leo smelling the crest of the hill. This is Leo, orgasmic. 

"These things aren't silly or trivial or irrelevant or whatever else people may think of the Church. For over a billion world citizens, if it's Pope versus Bible, the Pope wins. It's an enormous thing and it can't be politics." 

He sinks as low as he can go in the seat, finally exhausted. 

Leo nudges him again, this time more like a kick. He might be exhausted too but he's exuberant. Jed's got the nerve together to utter those four letters, anything is possible. 

"Did you see the new cardinals? Tell me he's not paving the way for his successor. He's building the biggest hard-right army since Hitler." 

"They're not exactly radicals," he admits. He's so tired, and excitement makes it worse. 

"Let me make some calls." 

"Leo. This is nothing to do with you. This isn't your field." 

"The hell it isn't. Everything's my field, Jed. The whole world operates on a few basic principles that I just happen to know something about." A breath, a Leo breath, blowing hard years across. "What else are you going to do to help?" 

"I'm tired." 

He sounds like a little boy. 

Leo says, "You're not done yet." 

His eyes open wide. Maybe not. 

* 

He tries to focus on slipping the words off his tongue rather than on Leo at the end of a row near the back, smothering a yawn and staring at the ceiling. One sardonic eye turned most of the time to the pulpit. Thinking, no doubt, of programs that could have been funded with the cost of the decorations of this building. 

This must be about the only career he might have chosen to allow him to make use of his Latin. The words aren't stale after two thousand years. Their meanings change every time he utters them, coloured by experience both enlightening and banal. 

For the fervent – that's the only word that fits them - people crushed against wood to see him, it must be like music. There are even coloured lights, sun and stained glass. It's a rock concert and he's the star. 

Leo's the producer. No wonder he wears that look on his face when talk strays to matters spiritual. 

Narcissism is merely loving God's creation. 

They meet after, in a car with dark windows. 

"You should turn your phone on," says Leo. 

He frowns. 

Leo explains, "There are going to be a few messages on it. I'd imagine." 

"What's going on?" 

He's dropped his voice to a whisper, inspired by the dark windows and the hunger in Leo's eyes. 

Leo's grin refuses to be censored. 

"He didn't last forever." 

* 

The process has taken days so far. It could easily stretch into weeks, even months. After Clement IV in the thirteenth century, it took nearly three years to seal the deal on a new guy. 

Leo is settled, as he has been daily, in a table outside a café that's traditional for tourists around the corner from the Sistine Chapel. 

Everything is even more crowded than usual while the Sacred College meets. The suggestion that people are eager for a glimpse of their favourite cardinal is amusing. Maybe they like the robes. 

Leo is there to see what he can see. 

The closed doors are hard to come to terms with. He craves knowledge of what's happening in the meetings, whether Jed's saying what he should, whether others in whose ears Leo has whispered are saying what they should. 

Twice the black smoke of burning straw and ballots has appeared in the sky, signifying inconclusive votes. 

One man can only drink so many cups of coffee, no matter how many exotic froths and flavours are added. Leo fidgets and crumples bits of paper. 

There have to be better ways of doing this, ways he could better manipulate. 

The part of him left that is full of faith aches for this to work. History hangs in the sky over this city-state, and to the future a fork in the road. Things could be marvellous. 

He rubs at an imaginary itch on the back of his hand and wonders if he did enough. 

He smells the smoke before he sees it. 

Then he hears the excitement and the rapid-fire multilingual chatter rising in pitch all around him. 

A line puffs slowly upwards, splitting the sky. Off-white. The remains of ballots cast and burnt. Leo strains his eyes as if the pattern of their diffusion in the atmosphere could spell out which way they fell. 

Sic transit gloria mundi. 

Leo listens to the people, though he doesn't understand. Jed is fluent in several of the languages, but Jed already knows his destiny. 

He'll have to get used to the closed doors. 


End file.
